


Your Curls

by atthebarricade



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atthebarricade/pseuds/atthebarricade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras realizes he doesn't want to be without Grantaire, but he might have finally pushed the other man too far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Curls

Enjolras was having a bad day.

His professors had decided to all load him with copious amounts of essays and labs (he wouldn’t have any trouble doing them, but he _had_ been planning to sleep that night), his boss at the internship was fighting with his wife again and decided to take it out by threatening Enjolras with unemployment, and the barista from some expensive but convenient coffee shop had gotten his order wrong _again_. By nine, when their friends had decided to meet for drinks, he was exhausted and ready for bed, essays be damned. Nevertheless, he trudged into the hole-in-the-wall bar. Grantaire had found it in a sketchier part of town, but it served good drinks for a reasonable price, so his friends frequently met up there if they wanted a change of scenery from the Musain.

He pushed open the door and was met by an inebriated Courfeyrac.

“Good evening, Enjolras,” he greeted in a sing-song voice, throwing an arm over his shoulder. “So nice of you to show up. You’re nearly an hour late!”

Enjolras frowned. “We agreed nine, didn’t we?” he demanded. Jehan appeared at Courfeyrac’s shoulder, giving him a slightly amused look.

“No, it was eight,” Jehan gently reminded him. “We’re all sitting by the window in that corner over there. Courf, come dance with me.”

The curly haired man allowed his boyfriend to tug him to the small dance floor, grinning happily at Enjolras as he went. Enjolras sighed and ran a hand through his hair, glancing around for the table Jehan had described. Upon seeing it, he started over and braced himself for the one-sided animated conversations and fake smiles sure to come. When he slid into the booth, there were many loud and friendly greetings, and he gave as big of a genuine smile as he could manage. Everyone shifted over to give him more room. Combeferre, who was directly next to him, gave him a worried look.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly.

Enjolras sighed and rubbed at his sore eyes. “Bad day, that’s all. I’m fine.”

Combeferre nodded once but continued to look concerned. Enjolras scanned the table, doing a mental attendance.

“Where’s Grantaire?” he asked suddenly, noting his boyfriend’s absence.

“He took a later shift tonight, he’ll get off in a few minutes,” Éponine supplied. “Didn’t he tell you?”

Enjolras frowned, racking his memory. “Er-yeah, I think he did,” he admitted. “It slipped my mind.”

Everyone dropped the subject and began to recount their days.

“So, the professor has him thrown out-”

Bahorel was off on a rant about his new idol, a student who got kicked out of a law class for arguing with the teacher and proving him wrong.

“He kind of reminded me of you, Enj,” Bahorel said with a grin. “Haven’t you been kicked out of a class for something like that, too?”

Enjolras looked up, eyes unfocused. “What? Oh, yeah, this one time in freshman year…” He trailed off, eyes flickering around the table uncomfortably.

They all began to mirror Combeferre’s worried expression.

“Are you alright, Enjolras?” asked Cosette softly. “You seem upset.”

He waved off her concerns. “Just a long, bad day,” he assured her. “I think I’m just going to go home, R can hang out with you guys-”

Right on cue, the bar door opened and an exhausted looking Grantaire shuffled in. He gave Jehan and Courfeyrac a half-hearted wave and followed Jehan’s pointing finger to the rest of the group.

Once he reached them, he plopped down next to Enjolras, rubbing his eyes in a similar fashion to how Enjolras had just done.

“Hey,” he mumbled softly, giving the group a small smile.

“Well, aren’t you two quite the pair tonight?” Éponine laughed scathingly. “Party poopers.”

Enjolras got up abruptly. “I’m headed home.”

Grantaire moved to get up too but Enjolras stopped him. R gave the blond a confused look. Enjolras just shook his head.

“I’m going to get started on a few essays-I won’t be very entertaining company. You stay here.” He turned to their friends. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” they chorused.

“Try and get some sleep,” Combeferre muttered.

Grantaire just gave him a wounded look and turned away. Enjolras rolled his eyes and left the bar without another word.

The air was much cooler than it had been when he first arrived, and he pulled his sweater a little closer around his body. Ducking his head, he started the fifteen minute trek back to his and Grantaire’s shared apartment.

He was five minutes into his walk when the catcalls started.

“Hey beautiful!” a drunken man called from across the street. “You’re awful pretty for a boy!”

“Are you a fag, blondie?” his friend demanded. “Come on over here and we’ll check!”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, walking a little faster. Those weren’t the worst calls he’d had, not even close. The men shouted a few more derogatory comments before getting bored and re-entering the bar they’d just stepped out of.

It was when he was reaching the edge of the neighborhood that a group of shady men appeared.

“Hello, lovely!”

“You’re damn pretty, girl.”

“Wanna come over here, beautiful?”

They called him every rendition of ‘pretty’ their minds were capable of thinking of, following him until Enjolras passed the library, where they gave up and left him in piece. Enjolras, though unscathed, was shaking. He was going to chop all of his hair off the minute he got home. This ‘girl’ business was ending as soon as he could find the scissors.

He ran up the stairs to his apartment, mind set on giving himself a manlier haircut. He unlocked the door and shoved it open, storming inside the apartment and ripping drawers open. After tearing them apart without success, he took a deep breath to steady himself.

He glanced up to the mirror despite himself and huffed a breath. His hair was fine-the men were just drunk and sexist. Besides, Grantaire adored his hair. Taking another deep breath, he fetched his laptop and sat on the couch, starting up the word processor.

He was half done with his first paper when the door re-opened and Grantaire shuffled in, not totally sober but not totally inebriated, either.

“Hey, Enj,” he said softly.

“Hey,” Enjolras replied shortly.

“What happened?” was all he asked. Enjolras sighed and closed his laptop, which R took as a sign to sit next to him on the couch.

His arms encircled the blond, and Enjolras leaned into his embrace with a sigh.

“Just a bad day, that’s all,” he murmured. “The kind where everything goes wrong. I made a fool out of myself in French History.”

“Nonsense,” Grantaire argued into his curls. “That’s your best class.”

“I know,” he agreed, “but the professor asked a question and I was so out of it that I gave the total wrong answer. It was horrible, I’ll never be able to look her in the eye again.”

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire said, hands running through the long golden curls. “I had a shitty day too. God, I love your curls.”

Enjolras stiffened against his hands. They promptly stopped, noticing Enjolras’ ridged position.

“Enj?”

“Sorry,” he sighed. “I just…I don’t know. I’m sorry.” He tilted his head up to capture R’s lips into a kiss.

They kissed like that for a while, Grantaire’s hands resuming their movement through his hair, until Enjolras’ neck couldn’t take anymore. They broke apart, Enjolras rubbing at his sore neck, relishing the feel of Grantaire’s calloused hands rubbing circles into his scalp.

“Jesus, your hair should be illegal,” Grantaire commented. “You’re too pretty to be real.” Enjolras tightened his lips and pulled away.

“Enj?” Grantaire said nervously, his voice a little high-pitched.

“Don’t,” Enjolras replied shortly. “Don’t compliment me.”

“What? Enjolras, what’s wrong?”

“It’s just sometimes all the compliments can be irritating!” Enjolras snapped. “Lay off!”

“Christ, Enj, they’re just compliments!” Grantaire defended. “We can’t all be as perfect as you, showered in compliments so often they get so drag-”

“Oh, please-”

“So forgive me if I overstepped my boundaries, dear Apollo-”

“Jesus, are we back to the Apollo thing?”

“But sometimes the inferior like to inform the gods of their supremeness.”

“Sometimes I think you like me just because I’m pretty!”

Grantaire froze. The look on his face turned from sarcasm to absolute, unmasked hurt. He got to his feet.

Enjolras’ insides dropped and he rose too. Sometimes his days took their toll on Enjolras’ attitude, which in turn hurt Grantaire. Enjolras _never_ wanted to hurt his Grantaire, but his mouth did not always obey his heart.

“R-”

“You know, Enjolras, over the years you’ve said some pretty shitty stuff to me. Made me feel worthless countless times. Insulted me about a lot of vices. But never,” he growled, stepping forward, “never have you ever had the audacity to question that way I feel about you. If there’s anything good in me at all, it’s the way I love you.”

Enjolras stepped towards him. “Grantaire-”

“If I had to set any boundaries, Enjolras, insulting me about _that_ would be crossing the line.”

“I didn’t-”

Grantaire pushed past him, grabbing his keys from the table beside the door and yanking the door open.

“R!”

But the door was closing behind him. Enjolras stood frozen, torn between tearing after his oftentimes reckless and self-destructing boyfriend and sitting and crying. Sometimes he questioned whether their relationship was healthy-it involved a lot of Enjolras hurting Grantaire, Grantaire hurting him back, and lots of makeup sex. Enjolras loved Grantaire, that he knew for certain. It had taken some time to accept, but if there was anything Enjolras was totally sure of it was his feelings for the artist.

_If there’s anything good in me at all, it’s the way I love you._

Enjolras threw open the door without a second’s more hesitation, thundering down the stairs and desperately calling R’s name.

_Oh fuck I’ve done it I’ve finally ruined us it’s over he won’t take me back he hates me and I love him and what did I do before R what will I do without him…_

“Grantaire!” Enjolras pleaded one last time, nothing but the lonely sounds of the winds answering him. Enjolras looked around before deciding to head to the Seine, a favorite sulking place of Grantaire’s. He started off at a jog, trying to stay calm while his mind raced.

 _If I don’t have Grantaire, you’ll still have the Amis and the revolution,_ he reminded himself. _You won’t be over._

His more sentimental half laughed scathingly. Enjolras knew that without R at the meetings, he wouldn’t be half as focused nor a quarter as passionate. His steps quickened without thinking, but his breath began to steady.

Their apartment wasn’t far from the Seine at all- a fifteen minute walk, and a five minute full-out sprint that Enjolras was doing.

He dodged couples holding hands, melancholy teenagers, and a very bored police officer before reaching R’s usual bench. No one sat on it. Enjolras sagged onto it and curled up, hugging his knees. If anyone was to spare him a glance, no one would recognize him as the confident activist that sometimes spoke downtown. Hell, if Grantaire showed up and sat next to him he wouldn’t realize it was their ‘fearless leader’-just an emotional teenager who liked to watch the river’s stillness late at night to calm themselves.

Enjolras fought the onslaught of emotions and thoughts, the panic and anxiety creeping up, waiting for the right moment to strike. He thought of Grantaire’s wild curls and made a choked noise when he realized he might never run his hands through them again.

“Enjolras?”

The curls shot up and whirled, piercing blue eyes searching for the source of the noise. Blue met blue, and Enjolras was on his feet, moving without thought, body desperate to be close to his and to never be separated again. Once his arms were in range, he threw them around Grantaire and pulled him in, burrowing his nose in the spot where the other man’s shoulder met his neck.

Strong arms automatically came up to hold him closer before they hesitated.

“Enjolras-”

The sound of a sob cut him off, and for a moment he looked around to find the source of the noise. Upon realizing it was the blond who was currently holding him in a vice-like grip, the arms tightened again.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras cried, breathing in his scent of cigarettes and mint gum. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it and you know that, I’d never think you liked me because of how I looked, I just, I-”

“Shush, Enj, we’ll talk about it later,” Grantaire whispered, bending his head to brush Enjolras’ curls with his lips. “Just calm down a bit. I’m right here.”

“But one day you won’t be,” Enjolras mumbled. “One day I’ll go too far and you’ll leave me and I’ll be totally alone and I don’t want to be alone, Grantaire. I want you.”

“You’ve got me,” Grantaire reassured him, looking more than a little surprised at Enjolras’ rare openness and repetitiveness. “You’ve got me and I’m not going anywhere. We’ll talk about it later.”

Enjolras sucked in a breath, trying to hold R even closer. “You’re here,” he agreed. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Enjolras always believed Grantaire when he said it, but in that moment he thought the artist looked as if he believed Enjolras too.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! If anyone wants a second chapter in which they talk, comment (:


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